


A True Adversary

by thecattydddy



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Child Abuse, Floriography, Multi, Murder, Organized Crime, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4296333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecattydddy/pseuds/thecattydddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knowledge is power and power is not inherently good or evil - It's how you use it that dictates that. When a highly intelligent and highly organized serial killer begins to take special interest in the team's youngest member, the BAU learns that there is more to the criminal world than they originally thought and Spencer must learn that, just because he might be similar to a criminal mastermind, it doesn't mean he is one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a very heavy influence from a lot of literature, most of which is currently under public domain. There is a lot of references in particular to the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The main villain in this story is purposefully built with similarity to Professor Moriarty from the Sherlock Holmes universe. In addition to the main plot of this story, there will be several subplots that will present themselves, mostly in the form of cases taken on by the BAU.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No doubt exists that all women are crazy; it's only a question of degree.” - W. C. Fields

It was a cool night, the wind whistling and causing the trees to knock against the window. Daniel lay in his chair, unaware of the noise as he dozes, a bottle resting at his feet from when he dropped it. An angry expression was plastered over his face, assuring anyone foolish enough to disturb him that they would regret it. The house remained otherwise silent, as if even the mice in the walls and the crows in the yard knew better than to disturb him.

In the house also resided the man's children. He, claiming to be a religious man, had named the boys Isaiah, Jacob and Noah, respectively. They, much like their father, rested in their beds and hopefully dreamt of better worlds as opposed to the nightmares they witnessed. Their mother had once told them, before passing away shortly after Noah's birth, that dreams were meant to be a reflection of their souls and that they should keep them happy. To have nightmares might suggest they are punishing themselves for something they felt guilty for.

Little did they know, not all nightmares are simply in their heads, to be manipulated with a little reassurance. Some nightmares take shape and wander the earth. Some take the form of innocent and beautiful things before they show their true selves. Some become such a part of you that you cannot rid yourself of them no matter what you may want to do.

Some nightmares are little girls, wrapped in bloody nightgowns who emerge from your basement with revenge and hatred on their minds.

She crept silently through the house, a firm grip on the instrument in her hand and a trail of red behind her. Desperation and rage radiated off her in waves so thick that she could have cut them with that very knife. How many times had she run away and been hunted down to lead to this moment? How many times had her keeper beaten her into this very state? The numerous painful memories surfaced to assist her and she approached the man sleeping. She could have almost heard the room begging her not to anger him. His wrath would fall upon everything and everyone. A failed attempt would surely mean the end of them all.

That worry was needless, though. A single calculated stab was all she needed. The small number of times she'd snuck away to the library and risked his fury would be worth it. She was more prepared than she need be to stop a drunk and hopeless man's beating heart.

The first stab was in the neck, to ensure the quickest death her small frame could manage. He was awake immediately, reaching for her, but she was already out of reach and taking the knife with her, ducking out of his reach. The alcohol still coursing through him made any attempt to catch her futile. A wet choking sound came from him, but otherwise he was unable to say anything from the blood spurting out of his neck. A swipe of her knife slashed his hand and there would have been a cry of pain if he could have managed that. How she longed to hear that cry, but this was the only way to ensure her plan succeeded. He stared at her with wide eyes and she left him to choke on his own blood. A death left alone was better than he deserved, but there was more to be done. Witnesses to be disposed of.

The stairs creaked as she went up them, but she ignored the sound as adrenaline coursed through her. Tucking the weapon against her side, she advanced towards her elder brother's room, turning the knob with practiced ease. Sleeping soundly in his bed, the Isaiah looked peaceful. She had always resented that he could wear that face. That she suffered day and night and never had he made any efforts to protect her. The motion of the knife into his neck was done without a thought. Isaiah looked at her, clearly hurt by her betrayal, but she knew it wasn't warranted. She brought the knife down on his eyes to remove it.

Jacob was more frantic, thrashing about and even managing to land a good blow to her stomach, irritating an already present injury. A few random slashes brought him back into submission and he cowered in a curled position, his back to her. She left him, holding a hand to her stomach in an attempt to will the pain away.

The final door appeared before her and she hesitated a moment, the knife clattering to the ground in front of it. Just out of sight, the other three individuals suffered in their final moments and she blocked them out, focusing solely on her final target.

The door pushed open to reveal the room of a young boy, no more than a few years old. She tiptoed the distance between herself and the bed, hovering over the figure sleeping there. Sitting on the bed with her legs crossed over one another, she lifted the boy's head with a gentleness that went in direct contrast with her previous actions. Her hand found its way to his hair, running though it, gently. Her expression saddened, but no tears escaped her. Leaning close, her breath tickling his ear as he slept, she whispered soft and remorseful words to him.

“I'm sorry.”

The act was over before it began, the small boy's head turned to the side and his eyes still closed. She stayed a moment, her fingers spread throughout his hair, before leaving the bed and the room all together. Not a single glance was spared as she picked up the knife from the ground and headed down the stairs once again. By then, the first victim was already dead, but that didn't stop her from climbing over him and bringing the weapon down upon him again and again. She wanted to deface him and ruin the chance that anyone would recognize him.

Her arms began to tire, but she brought it down a few times more just to satisfy the rage inside of her. Satisfied, she left the knife embedded in his eye and raided his pocket for a key. Pulling it out, she held it in the light to admire it. The shiny metal surface wasn't any different from most keys, but this one would be especially helpful in her next move.

A gun case in the shed outside held all of the family's weapons, tucked out of the reach of the children behind a locked door. She slid the key into the lock and opened the door. A handgun was pulled out of place, and she held it a moment, taken by how much power she felt while holding it. Unsure how to load the gun, she mostly took it as a prop and returned to the house to pack a few things to go.

Finally ready to go, she tucked the gun in the waistband of her brother's pants, which she had nicked from his clothing along side the rest of her outfit and a few other things in a bag on her back. Pulling a baseball cap over her eyes, she looked back at the house one last time and took in the scene before turning and fleeing into the darkness.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Whenever a doctor cannot do good, he must be kept from doing harm.” - Hippocrates

The good Doctor Jennings was a very kind man. He'd kept a good reputation in the town by helping those in need, continuing to do so even after his late wife, Katherine, passed away. He was known in town by name and, in return, knew most of its residence on a very personal level. He'd seen births and deaths and everything in between that a small town in Virginia could offer.

The sound of a knock on his door at the late hour was uncommon, but certainly not a first. He'd been woken before by a desperate and confused father to be or a weary patient and had expected nothing else while he put on his slippers and left the comfort of his bed. With tired eyes and a yawn, Doctor Jennings unlocked his door and swung it open to reveal a young girl standing on his doorstep.

“Hello, Doctor,” she greeted, clicking the safety off of a handgun and leveling it with his stomach. He was barely able to process before she was gesturing him back into the house with a wave of the gun. With his hands in the air and his heart beating in his chest, he moved aside to let her in and then closed the door as she instructed.

“Don't scream. Don't run. Don't call for anyone,” she explained, calmly. The doctor nodded his understanding, prompting her to continue, “I need your assistance, good Doctor Jennings… and then I'm going to leave here. I have no reason to harm you if you cooperate.”

“Why are you doing this?” Doctor Jennings croaked, his voice shaking. As if she'd been waiting for him to ask, the girl lifted her shirt and showed him the damage. Across the entirely of her visible body, angry purple bruises sprung forward and it must have hurt with the way she grimaced when moving the shirt. More pressing, however, was the deep gash in her middle, still bleeding if the soaked linens she'd used to bandage them were anything to go by. His eyes widened and a glance up to her face showed she hadn't wavered even slightly.

“Can you help me, Doctor, or not?” she demanded. He was reminded of the gun she still possessed and nodded, again.

“I can work on you in here,” Doctor Jennings explained, moving slowly to the living room and pulling an emergency kit out from under the coffee table where he stored it.

She refused to lower her gun as he worked, keeping it trained on him even as she sat on the couch and he stitched her up. The procession had been a silent one, besides the occasional hiss of pain from his patient. He'd done his best to clean the area and make it as painless as possible, but she'd refused any medicine he'd offered to give her, convinced that he would try and knock her out or take advantage of her. Finally, a real set of bandages was wrapped around her middle and she gingerly rose with a groan.

“Give me the rest of the bandages,” she instructed, gesturing to the open medical kit, “Put them in the bag.” She tossed her backpack to him and he moved them into it, keeping an eye on her. If he hadn't known better, the contents of it would have suggested a child running away instead of the threat he saw before him.

“You must be careful,” he warned, zipping her bag back up and pushing it across the floor to her, “If you move too roughly, you'll pull the stitching loose. You'll need to remove them in about a week and a half. In case you tear them, I put the spare supplies in the bag as well, though I would suggest getting them done professionally.”

“I appreciate the help, Doctor,” she said, putting the bag over her shoulder with a wince. There was silence for a moment while they considered where to go from now.

“If I may ask,” he spoke up, leaning back against the table he'd been working off of moments before, “Why are you doing this as opposed to going to the clinic? Where are your parents?”

“Not important,” she replied, “I'm getting away from them.”

“Did they do this to you?”

The girl was silent for a moment, considering whether or not she should answer. Eventually, she sighed and nodded. Doctor Jennings frowned at this, “Is that why you're running away?”

“Yes.”

“Where do you plan to go?”

“Away.”

He considered this answer, biting his lip. Finally, he stood up and walked out of the room, the gun following his leave. He returned a moment later, surprised to see she hadn't moved, “Are you going to tell them I've been here? I'll be long gone before you do.”

“No.” He moved forward and placed a few bills on the table, sliding them in her direction. “Go and find somewhere safe to stay… And give me that. A young girl like yourself should not be waving around a gun.”

“Thanks, but I can't do that.” she picked the bills up and stuffed them in her pocket. The clothes had been ruined from the operation, but she would worry about that later. “I won't forget about this, Doctor. I will repay this debt.”

“It is not necessary,” he insisted, “I was simply doing what I swore to do.” She nodded and turned to go, not bothering to look back as she bolted for the door. He remained where he was, watching her retreat from his front window. She tucked the gun away in her waistband before hopping the fence and disappearing into a line of trees on the other side.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Life is neither good or evil, but only a place for good and evil.” - Marcus Aurelius

“Lethologica,” Spencer interjected, drawing the attention of his coworkers as they were all crowded around one of their desks, chatting away.

“What?” Jennifer questioned, confused.

“The state of not being able to remember the word you're looking for,” Spencer explained, “You were just experiencing it.”

“I was hoping you could supply me with the word I was thinking of, Spence,” Jennifer chuckled, softly. The youngest agent never seemed to stop amazing them, despite having been around them for so long. It seemed that every time one started to figure him out, he said or did something completely unexpected and threw them off – But no one on the team would have had it any other way.

“Exibit!” Penelope piped up, suddenly, “The word you're looking for is exibit!”

“Oh! Of course!” Jennifer tossed the word around in her head a few times to familiarize herself with it, again. Just as she was about to start her story up, again, Aaron passed by, a case file in his hand.

“We've got a case. Meet me at the round table in fifteen.”

“Right,” Jennifer sighed, getting up from her spot to go and join him in the meeting room. Spencer made a beeline for the coffee machine and Derek wasn't very far behind. The others, she assumed, would join her soon enough.

When they had all settled around the table, Penelope took her spot at the front of the room, bringing up several images of the latest victim to the main screen, “Yesterday, Francine Young was found dead in a park in West Virginia. There was bruising to indicate resistance. One week prior, the body of Richard Vance was discovered in a different park. A third individual, Nikki Foster, was found a week before that. All three victims' deaths were determined to be cases of blunt trauma to the neck. Flowers were found at each scene beside them.”

“The use of flowers must be the unsubs signature, then,” Aaron concluded, looking over the pictures on his tablet, “Do we know what all the flowers are?”

“There's a lot of different ones used,” Penelope replied.

Derek zoomed in on his own tablet to get a better look at them. “It kind of looks like he just wandered into a flower shop and bought the first thing on the shelf. A sign of remorse, maybe?”

“Perhaps. Whatever it is, it's not enough to stop this unsub from killing. They've already taken out three people with no concern for gender lines nor does he have any obvious age preferences,” David noted, folding his hands in his lap.

“The scenes are clean and the deaths were seemingly executed with exact practice.” Spencer glanced from his paper file to the screen, contemplating, “I'd say this is probably an organized serial killer.”

“The dumpsites of all three victims in parks might be significant to the unsub's psyche,” Alex noted, her fingers splayed across her tablet as she reviewed the information, “Perhaps speaks to his early life or a trigger?”

Aaron closed his tablet, preparing to move the meeting along, “We've been invited by local PD to investigate. The jet's ready to depart to take us there, now. Wheels up in an hour.” With that, he rose from his chair and left the room. Not far behind, the rest of the team retreat to prepare for the trip. Reid, nose stuck in the case file, easily evaded the door and the rest of his coworkers as he read over the information, mostly to try and see if he missed anything rather than to collect the data. A to-go bag was already waiting for him in his car, so he went straight for the coffee machine, refilling on the cup he'd finished since the meeting'd started.

“Already need a another one?” Derek chuckled, coming up beside him and giving the younger agent a significant look, “Slow down, Kid. You're gonna hurt yourself drinking so much.”

“I'm fine,” Reid insisted, not even bothering to look up from the file, “Besides, it's been shown to improve the immune system and cognitive performance, with an array of other potential benefits.”

“I think most of those studies are in moderation,” Derek laughed, ruffling Spencer's hair and wandering off to go get his things, “I'll see you on the jet, Reid!”

“Yeah. See you, then,” Spencer huffed, trying to straighten his hair back out.

 


End file.
